


Loyalty

by Schemilix



Series: Blood and Gold [3]
Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schemilix/pseuds/Schemilix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missive reminds Vormav of what the War could take from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loyalty

All morning Vormav had been unusually irritable, which was to say the difference between a sleeping lion and one stuck up the arse by a kudu horn.

  
One was dangerous, and the other was intolerable. Sharing quarters with the knight as they did, however, it was only a matter of time before Loffrey and Barich looked up in unison as the tent flap moved, then shared a look.

  
As he passed the table he slapped a slip of parchment on the table, growling.

  
Reading it, Loffrey frowned and then glanced up. Barich read over his shoulder more slowly, but eventually ducked away, folding his arms.

  
"Just like that," Vormav said, almost wistfully. The tent, of course, had no windows, and so he stared at the canvas for the lack of one, back turned. "I suppose that makes me 'Lord Vormav' from now on."

  
Loffrey folded the missive neatly, setting it back down on the table. He made a sign of warding on his chest in case nobody else had bothered since the missive was sent.

  
"Will you return?" he asked, after a moment. Vormav only shook his head.

  
"Aught to return to. The name Tengille is from a knighthood generations ago. We're a proud and old family, but we're not landed. It's a name, is all. Well, we. I am the oldest and the youngest now, it seems."

  
"With a face like that you'll have no trouble continuing the line," Barich ventured, earning a shrug.

  
"Perhaps. I'm not sure I feel a need to, however."

  
"Did you not care for them?" Barich asked, only shrugging in return when Vormav shot him a searing look and snapped,

  
"Is this the time to be asking personal questions?"

  
"P'raps, or maybe not."

  
Loffrey sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, but to his surprise the elder knight relented. More than anything, Vormav looked perplexed.

  
"I didn't. My mother was weak and my father a brute. He grew up fighting and brought it home with him. Though it made me strong I don't thank him for it. I'd have got here on my own, without his bruises."

  
Before they could comment, he turned around and said, "Your own lines. Where are you from?"

  
"Wodring of Gallione? A new family, especially compared to yours. My... great grandmother, I believe, she earned the title for us with her magicks. That, and a fair fortune. Nothing so storied as your ancestors, I'm afraid," Loffrey offered. He looked to Barich.

  
"Fendsor isn't much of a name. I'm low-born."

  
"You speak well, for a low-blood," said Vormav, blandly. Barich suppressed a wince and explained,

  
"My mother taught me to read and write, and how to talk like a high-born."

  
"For the most part, at least," Loffrey interrupted, chuckling. Barich ignored him.

  
"She was a servant for a Duke for a spell, but she was clever. It wouldn't earn her much but it got me past a rank-and-file swordarm at least, that and the mechanicks. Goes to show, you two didn't know afore I told you."

  
Vormav listened and then, when he finished, carefully started to tear apart the missive, one neat square at a time.

  
"From Goug, aren't you?" he asked, and Barich nodded.

  
"A Goug machinist, a Gariland spell-sword and a Warjilis defender, sharing a tent. Whatever next." With that he set down the torn pieces of paper. "Nothing said will leave here by my lips, and I expect the same of you both."

  
The other men nodded, Barich more enthusiastically.

  
"Promise me that, and that we leave this infernal war together as Templars," Vormav said, stony-faced. Loffrey watched him for a moment and then leaned back in his chair, smiling wanly.

  
"To Hell and back," he promised, and Barich nodded.

  
"Aye. To Hell and back."


End file.
